First Attempt
by CatsEyeFanfictionInc
Summary: A normal day in the Organization. An old memory awakens. As he rids himself of a portion of the pain, look into Cenchax's minds to see one of his bittersweet memories; the memories of his first attempt. One-Shot Angst.


Hello, this is Cat's Eye, and I've decided to upload something OTHER than 'I'll Never Be Enough' but that has something to do with Cenchax! ^^

I wrote this a while ago, and I've slowly made quite a large pile of short stories that I've shared on DEVIANTART...But I realized that it wasn't fair to my Fanfiction watchers, since there are a handful of you who really seem to like Cenchax! ^^ So, today, I'm gonna upload a few short stories here, mostly about Cenchax! I hope you like them!

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Kingdom Hearts, or any of the characters named in this fanfiction. This is a fan-made piece of literature, and it shouldn't profit in any way, shape, or form.

However, I DO own Chance/Cenchax, Rose, and Darren, and they cannot be used WITHOUT my permission.

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**First Attempt**

A Cat's Eye Fanfiction Inc. Production

Dedicated to the loyal fans of Chance, and to Chance himself, for going through all this pain to give us a story.

**There was a spoiler alert on this, but it isn't valid anymore, since Cenchax has already told everyone the truth. So, it's a spoiler if you haven't gotten past Chapter 23 in 'I'll Never Be Enough'.**

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How could something he had once cherished so much turn into something that brought a fresh wave of pain to him every single day…?

The Organization was enough for him. He knew that. His friendship with all thirteen members. His feelings for the Key of Destiny. His general liking of living in the Castle, carrying out missions, gathering hearts, keeping a look out for Sora. His non-existent life should be enough for him.

So, why wasn't it?

Was it because he himself was incomplete, and unable to enjoy what he had because of that? Was it not that his life wasn't enough…but he wasn't? After all, it had been proven before, in his previous life…

He had left the room with a smile on his face. A genuine smile. A lie, saying that he'd be going to bed. A joke that was only half-hearted, which is a joke within itself, since he had no heart. He turned around. He kept his poker face on a little longer. No one knew what was going on underneath his mask. Not the Freeshooter. Not the Gambler of Fate. Not even the Cloaked Schemer.

He turned the corner. When he was sure no one could see him, his face darkened with the emotions he had caged inside of him. Loss. Sorrow. Pain. Horror. Fury. Agony. Torment. Longing. Love. Hate. All of it, poured onto his face, causing it to look black with emotion, if there was anyone to look at it.

Why was it that every time he remembered what his past used to be like, he contemplated his own existence? Why did he want to die when he was given a second chance at life? He wished his life had never become so complicated, but since the day he was born into this world as a Somebody, it was instantly that; complicated.

He stalked off to his room, knowing no one would follow him. Why would they? They were his friends, sure, but they had other friends. They had their own non-existent lives, and their own non-existent relationships, and their own non-existent feelings. Why did they need another non-existence that didn't even want to exist?

He didn't pause at his door. He opened it quietly, and closed it with a small 'Knock' that he knew no one would here. He walked right to his dresser. He pulled it open. He took out one of its most-used utensils. It shined silver in the dim light of the single turned-on lamp in his room, dark red staining across its gleam sinisterly. He rolled up his sleeves. He pulled off his gloves and gently laid them on the bed. He took off the armbands to uncover a sea of maroon and tan that many never heal. He glared at them all, his gaze sweeping across each individual cut. He hated this. He hated himself for doing this. He hated his addiction to pain. But, how could he stop? How could he stop what he knew he couldn't survive without?

As the flash of silver collided with the array of colors on his wrist, he sighed in relief. It dripped out of him, slowly, yet surely, and he was thankful that at least some of the pain could leave him…

For today, he had remembered one of his most bittersweet memories. The first day he had tried to leave this life forever…

_Why?_

_Why?_

_WHY?_

_Why did he have to hurt him so?_

_His heart felt like a dead-weight in his chest; an unneeded organ that would never again work. He wanted to just tear it out and leave a hole where it had been. At least if there was a hole, it would be empty of everything, including the pain he currently felt. Horizontal rivers crossed his cheeks, and he couldn't see out of his right eye; the only thing he could see was a mess of red, which stung horribly, but he didn't care. Anything to distract him from the ache in his heart. He threw the knife to the ground in fury. He was furious at himself for letting his secret out. He was furious at his life for being so pitiful. He was furious at his weakness._

_There was only one person he wasn't furious at, even though he had every reason to be…_

_"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?" he screamed, looking up at the ceiling. His blood dripped to the floor, turning the black carpet wet. "WHAT DID I EVER DO? I just wanted to be there for him! Why couldn't I…?" He threw his head in his hands. He pulled on his hair. He screamed again. He shook from side to side, blood splattering everywhere. His clothing was a mess, his hair was sticky, and his already-mediocre looks had taken a turn for the worse, but why should he care? Why should he care about anything now that his heart was only deadweight in his chest? It wouldn't pump blood properly, or love ever again. It would be stuck on pause forever, trapped forever in this moment of agony._

_"WHY DO I HAVE TO LIVE LIKE THIS? I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!" Fourteen years old, with enough trauma to send a man who lived in the military to a hospital, and he could turn to no one. The pain he had gone through no one could share. No one could go through what he went through. He had watched people bleed, people burn, people drown, people get hurt…All because of him. He had seen himself broken and battered for the sake of someone else's rage. His mental stability was down to negatives. He didn't always think clearly, his mind too clouded with all that caused him agony. And he blamed it all on himself. He felt like no one else had done anything wrong. He was the one at fault, and no one else…_

_"I JUST WANNA-!" He didn't finish his sentence. His eye widened. He realized that there was something he could do. Something that WOULD stop the pain and suffering. Something that would end everything, and make him completely forget all that had happened._

_He had thought about it many times before, but could he do it? Did he have what it took? He wasn't home…_

_He had no home…It was gone…_

_His friends would worry about him…_

_They had other friends…They'd move on…_

_He had no materials…_

_He knew where the rope was…He knew where the blades were…_

_His friend would be traumatized when he got home…_

_He could care less. His heart was dead, no beat, no emotion, only an endless sea of pain._

_He had no note…_

_But what was left to explain? He couldn't tell them what…HE…had done. He wanted HIM to act like none of this had ever happened…He wanted HIM to keep his friends. He could stand losing HIM, if it meant that HE would be better off without him…_

_But he couldn't live. He couldn't…_

There's no more hope, or joy or love. I can't find any reason to live. They're gone. He's gone. Everyone else could care less. What's the point in existing when all you do is cause pain for others…?

_He thought this to himself over and over again as he set up the rope. He thought this over and over again as he stood on the chair. He thought this over and over again as he tied the knot._

_And he convinced himself that this was right…_

_'CLATTER!' The rope taunted as the chair fell._

_As he hung in the air by the neck, trying not to struggle, he heard the door open._

_"So, Chance should be in here…? Hmm…Where is CHANCE OH MY GOD WHAT THE…!" He knew that it was one of his friends. Even without opening his eyes, he could see his friend's face; eyes small dots of horror, mouth agape with fear, face pale with pain. He didn't want to see it. He never wanted to see anything again. He wanted to go into darkness and never come back…_

_But it never came. The pressure around his rope stopped. He gagged for air out of instinct, his eyes still closed. "Darren, is he okay?"_

_"No, Rose, he just tried to hang himself! He's NOT okay!"_

_"Oh no…What happened to him…?"_

_"I don't know! I knew he cut, but…This is horrible…"_

_"He needs help…We should call a therapist…"_

_As they worried about him over and over, his eyes finally opened and stared blankly at the ceiling, taking none of the conversation in. At the time, he had no idea that this one event would lead to an entire chain of failed suicide attempt, all foiled by one thing or another. He didn't know that he'd die and then be given a non-existent life to live. He had no idea that the pain had just begun._

_All he could think about was the wonderful feeling of the darkness grabbing his conscious as he struggled for air. He could only think of how the pain had lifted from him as he drifted farther and farther away._

_He had stood on the brink of death. And he wanted nothing more than to go back…_

He smiled bitterly to himself. Such a nice memory. The memory of the one time in his life he hadn't felt pain. The one time in his life he had truly forgotten.

His first attempt at suicide.

To the sickest of all minds, one poisoned by horrible memories, terrifying dreams, and a difficult past, it was one of the nicest memories he had.

**THE END**

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I was in a rather grim mood, and felt like leaking a bit of Cenchax's past to the readers, so...Grim depressing story time! -gets shot-

Anyways, I hope you...er...didn't mind reading this, or something...!

~Cat's Eye


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